Moving Bites!

In the small countryside town of Stokely, Wales, with the afternoon sky spattered with clouds, a crappy old hurse continues its arduous trek through a suburban neighbourhood, sputtering desperately as it goes. Each house passed seemingly more average and mundane than the last. Though, wether that's due to the bland, repetitive, cookie cutter nature of the houses design, or the mind numbing boredom that seems to creep in when the houses are observed, is a matter of great debate. In any case, 'Why would anyone debate such a stupid thing?' would seem to be the far more prevalent question.

Contained within that hunk of scrap metal, barely functional enough to be called a car, is a family unlike any other. 'All my life I've wanted to fit in, to be ordinary. So I thought moving to a new town would be my chance, my chance to be normal.'

These are the thoughts belonging to one Vladimir Dracula.

*Insert image of Vladimir Dracula here*

'But I was forgetting one little thing...'

'I'm a vampire.'

Yes. That Dracula.

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Vladimir (Vlad for short) points to the turn they just passed on the map, voice filled with an air of exasperation "I'm sure we should've taken a left back there!"

Face scrunched up in a mixture of irritation and disgust, Ingrid continues looking forwards in an attempt to, at least partially, ignore her younger brother. "Could you stop breathing in my face, you can't have brushed your teeth for weeks. Am I the only one gagging here?"

*Insert image of Ingrid Dracula here*

"I can't believe we have to speak this stupid language."

"We've got to keep a low profile." Vlad reiterates for what may just be the millionth time.

"And why did we have to move anyway?" Ingrid's scowl deepens almost imperceptibly, irked by the answer that immediately jumps to mind. 'Breathers.'

Renfield interrupts, his voice grating and uncomfortable, reflecting his unsightly, and clearly unwashed, appearance. "Please be quiet mistress Ingrid, I'm trying to read the map."

*Insert image of Renfield here*

"Don't tell me to be quiet." Ingrid smacks Renfield across the back of the head, insulted that he would dare risk her ire. "Insect biter!"

"Right, that is it!" Renfield retaliates, pinching her forearm.

"Don't you touch me, you fungus!" Ingrid wipes her arm with her hand, revolted by the slight contact with such a repulsive, wart infested servant.

"Rat!" (Renfield)

"Creep!" (Ingrid)

"Witch!" (R)

"Pus-face!" (I)

"Turn Right!" Vlad directs, intent on surviving the drive to their new home, as Renfield turns the car sharply to the right, swerving dangerously along the road.

"Contour!" (R)

"Cretin!" (I)

"Freak! fart-breath!" (R)

"Spider-licker!" (I)

"Scab-picker!" (R)

"Snot-eater!" (I)

"RENFIELD!!!" The car stops still at the furious bellow, almost as though waiting for permission to resume it's journey. Irate, the children's father, Count Dracula, makes his presence known. Bringing his head out from behind the curtained back portion of the hurse, he positions it between Ingrid and Renfield. "What exactly is going on?"

*Insert image of Count Dracula here*

"S-s-sorry for disturbing you master." Renfield stutters out, his voice now whimpering and servile, his form fearfully still.

"Silence! " The Count demands, incensed by his servants pathetic attempt at an apology. Not that a good one would've made any difference.

"Ingrid wants Renfield to turn the hurse around and go back to Transylvania." Vlad, tired of Ingrids complaining, gains a lopsided grin as he unceremoniously rats her out to their father.

The Count looks to his daughter. "Oh, you do, do you? And what about the angry torch-wielding Transylvanian peasant mob, hmm, would you like to go back to them too?" He asks sarcastically, gaining a far of look as memories of fire, screaming and overwhelming fear flashing through his mind. The visceral emotions he had felt in those moments hit him once more, causing him to physically recoil as he jolts back to reality.

"Yeah well, better going back to face them than living in this dump. I mean look at it, it's so.... normal." Ingrids features adopt a look of revulsion, as her stance on anything 'normal' is swiftly made clear to the vehicles occupants.

At that, Vlad looks out the window, appreciating the normalcy of everything around them. "Hm, normal, that's just what I was thinking."

Renfield, anxious and apprehensive, turns to the Count. "Can I proceed now master?"

"Yes, yes!" The Count hurries along, hoping to reach his new castle before nightfall, so as to not waste the precious night hours settling in.

"Good, it smells like a zombies armpit in here." Ingrid complains. As she says this, her nose scrunches up cutely, heavily contrasting the dark atmosphere permeating the hurse.

At this, the Count sniffs the air, before following the strange scent backwards. Pulling the curtain aside slightly, a stuffed wolf comes into view of the children, stationed beside the count.

*Insert image of Zoltan here*

Ingrid turns to look at Vlad, a mocking expression etched onto her face. "Ah, I thought so. It's Vlads stupid stuffed dog."

"Oi, he's not a dog, he's a Hellhound!" Vlad defends, indignant on his fur covered friends behalf. "And he doesn't smell."

Zoltan, feeling the need to clarify, cuts in. "Well actually master Vlad, I do smell a bit. My sawdust seems to have got a little damp in transit,*cough*cough*."

"....Renfield, drive." The Count orders, clearly sick of such bickering.

On the counts command, the car jolts into action, sputtering away up the road. So immediate was the vehicles resumption of movement, it would be difficult to liken it's sudden start to the automobiles earlier lethargic performance.

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However, unbeknownst to the passengers of the hurse, they had gained a curious observer, located in the house the vehicle had stopped infront of. Watching through a window on the second floor, a figure with dark hair, donning a cloak of black and red, regards the death trap with a gaze of curiosity and intrigue.

*Insert image of Robin Brannagh here*

Never before had something so.....strange... arrived in the quaint, unremarkable town of which he had the displeasure to call home. In contrast to the bright, upbeat colours plastered on every car, wall, door, and fence within the confines of the town, the hurses dark colours, dilapidated condition and gloomy, almost oppressive atmosphere caused it to stick out like a sore thumb.

In the solitude of his own head, the comparison of night and day comes to mind, almost comedic in its accuracy. Not that the figure has the context necessary to understand how apt his description is, nor why it would be funny.

As the figure leans forwards for a closer look, something snaps, and the world turns on its head as he slams into the ground.*THUNK!*. He winces, taking a moment to appraise the rope from which he had previously hung by his ankles, before refocusing his attention back on the anomaly outside. Though, as he lifts himself from the ground and stumbles awkwardly to the window, the vehicle begins to move once more, allowing him only a brief moment to gaze upon it before it drives away, making its journey towards the castle sitting prominently upon the hill.

As the hurse leaves his view, the boys attention is drawn to the obnoxious banging sound coming from his door.

"Get out here ya weirdo!"

"Yeah Robin. I don't want to miss camping cause you didn't go-a bed on time!"

Two voices are heard through the door, thick Welsh accents detectable in their tones.

At this, the now named robin groans unenthusiastically. 'Crap'

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The rest of the drive to Stokely Castle is quiet, bereft of any back and forth between its occupants now that the Count is awake. Having the most feared vampire in the world as a father has its pros and cons, one such con being that conversation is difficult to make with a hundreds of years old immortal.

As the hurse comes to a halt, the facade of Stokely Castle is made visible, only a few feet away from where Renfield has decided to park.

The gates to the property are supported by two pillars, on each of which sits a gargoyle, small and hunched, yet still imposing due to their posture and elevated height. The castle itself is old, worn and broken, clearly having lacked proper care or maintenance for at least a decade or two. The front of the castle, while run-down, was still a sight to behold, the weight of the walls amplified by the trials of time, casting a daunting silhouette for any who stand in its shadow. Further back, a tower can be seen stretching out from the main body of the castle, lending to the dark, medieval aesthetic in which the said behemoth was built.

"What... is that?" The Count points to the deteriorating exterior of the castle, clearly unimpressed with the lackluster state of his new home.

At this, the family analyze the stone behemoth, roving over the building with their eyes in silent judgement. After a moment the children's eyes turn reluctant and doubtful, concerned with the integrity of the castle after the many years of neglect it's suffered from whom ever owned it last.

Vlad, ever the smart-ass, answers his dad's question with as much seriousness as possible. "Home, sweet home."

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Chapter 1: 1554 words (Not including this bit)

Originally, chapter one was going to be the whole first episode, but 5 days and 4000+ words later, I decided 'fuck it!' and settled on splitting it up into even-ish parts. How many parts? Fuck if I know! Based on the current ratio of screen time to words, I'd estimate 5 or 6. Does that seem kinda long for a 30 minute episode? Maybe, but I'm going to extra effort to describe the setting and characters as best I can during the first few chapters, just so anyone who hasn't seen the show, but is still reading this, can get a clear picture of what's going on, and who acts how.

If you have any constructive criticism, I'd love to hear it. Also, I'm not sure what my upload schedule will be in the foreseeable future, but I'll be aiming for at least 1 or 2 chapters a week, about the same length as this one.

Oh, and if you think the story, writing, or anything else is good, stones would be appreciated.

💎💎💎